


Loves me, loves me not

by siriusissues



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Gen, M/M, Unrequited Love, cause i always write angst lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 07:47:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11375757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriusissues/pseuds/siriusissues
Summary: It's a game, it's always a game. It doesn't have an end, but perhaps this is the last time Sirius finds himself plucking the white petals of a daisy.





	Loves me, loves me not

**Author's Note:**

> went out to have a smoke in the middle of the night and caught sight of some daisies growing by the forest and immediately thought of when i used to play this game as a lil kiddo

“Loves me… loves me not…”

Sirius is sat by The Great Lake. It’s kind of chilly even though it’s June and soon his very last year at Hogwarts will be over. He has always kept track of how many days there were left until the summer holidays. Some children do this because they’re excited to go home, because they’re tired of school. Sirius did it because he wanted to make sure that he enjoyed every single day before he had to go back to number twelve Grimmauld Place. He stopped keeping track of the days after he turned sixteen.

“Loves me… loves me not…”

It’s in the middle of the night. The stars are shining down upon the young boy, who has grown quite fond of them, almost thinking of them as his many brothers and sisters and siblings. Somewhere along with them is him. Sirius is right there. _The brightest star seen from Earth._ He doesn’t feel very bright, though. Not like a star, at least. He’s burning out, like all stars do eventually. __When the time’s right.__

“Loves me… loves me not…”

He’s sitting in the damp grass, slowly and gently plucking the petals of a daisy. He mutters the words into the silent night. It’s a game. Sirius read somewhere when he was young, that if you turn your life into one big game, then you’ll either win or lose, and somehow that gives him some kind of hope that he’s not _entirely_ lost, that no matter what happens he’ll have a fate. He’ll either win or lose. Although, how to define either of them, he does not know.

The wind carries the petals far away and Sirius quickly loses sight of them. Their white shade disappears into the dark of the night. It’s not the first time he has snuck out to do this. Sometimes he tells himself it’s the pull of the skies, that he needs to get out and lay under the light of his star family. It gives him a sense of belonging that he felt for the very first time when he was eleven and just had been sorted into Gryffindor. He rarely feels it anymore.

But even though it might be the stars calling for him, asking him when he will come home again, he knows that there are also other reasons why he keep doing this. Looking down, his eyes fall on a half plucked daisy loosely held in his right hand. He’s halfway to an answer, but part of him does not want to know. Another part of him knows that he cannot return to the dorm until he’s finished plucking every single petal.

“Loves me… loves me not…”

Sirius has never cared much for flowers. He knows that James’ favourite flowers are lilies. He used to remind his friends of that a lot. But Sirius isn’t too sure anymore, because it’s been quite a long time since James spoke of lilies, especially the orange ones.

But Sirius, he doesn’t know a lot about flowers or plants or anything. He knows what a rose is. Deep red roses that are beautiful like nothing else, and he despises them. His mother always used to keep twelve of them in a pitch black vase standing by one of the large windows in the sitting room at Grimmauld Place. The only time she’s fond of the colour red, _the_ _Gryffindor_ _colour,_ is when it comes down to roses. She loves them, perhaps more than she loves him.

Elegant flowers are far from being his favourite. He loves daisies. He has loved them ever since he was little. His parents always made sure that they were never any in the garden, because they were _ugly_. When a flower is ugly it doesn’t deserve to be a flower anymore. _A daisy_ _is not a flower,_ _Sirius_. It doesn’t belong in a vase of roses. it doesn’t, it doesn’t.

He remembers sitting on his bed, only eight years old, when his little brother came into his room after dinner. Regulus cast a weird look at him and raised his chin a bit. He asked, “What are you doing, Si?” In that snobby way of his. But as a child speaking to another child, his curiosity did not go unnoticed.

Sirius had opened his eyes and looked directly at his little brother. _So young, so young_. He was raised to hate. Only six years old, and already a weapon to be used by their parents. _So young_.

“I’m playing a game, Reg. You see, mother and father said we can’t have daisies in the garden, and I can’t play the game without them, so then I thought of an imaginary daisy so I can play the game anyway.”

By the time he had finished speaking, his little brother had lowered his chin once again and his curiosity was now sparkling clearly in his eyes. “What’s the game, then?” The younger of the pair asked.

Sirius patted the bed in front of him and his brother joined him. They were sitting cross legged in front of each other in the dimly lit room. The candle light cast shadows over their young faces.

“There’s a game alright, and it’s called ‘Loves me, loves me not.’” He paused to look at Regulus who only nodded along. “And you have a daisy, you see, and then you gently pluck its petals one by one while repeating the same thing over and over.” 

“Loves me, loves me not?” His little brother had whispered and it hung in the air like a ticking clock.

It was Sirius’ time to nod. His eyes were sparkling now, too. “Yeah, exactly. You pluck one petal and whisper “loves me,” then you pluck the next, very carefully alright, and whisper “loves me not.” You think you got it now?" 

“Yes, Si, I understand now,” Regulus said like it was stupid of Sirius to even ask such a question. Then his brows furrowed together and Sirius could tell that a new question was right at the tip of his tongue. “What is the point of the game? Why should one play it?”

And Sirius smiled but his eyes had stopped sparkling. “Well, you think of a very special person while playing it. Could be anyone, really. And as you pluck the petals you think of this person to find out if they love you or not.”

Regulus got that look on his face that he always got when the last piece of the puzzle fell into place. The silence in the room fell heavy around the two Black brothers, but it felt light on their shoulders, strangely enough. The shadows from the candle flickered now and then.

“Sirius?”

“Yes, Regulus?”

“Who do you think of when playing the game?” 

It was an innocent question that any six year old child would ask, but Sirius still wasn’t prepared for it. He swallowed the lump in his throat and turned his face away from his little brother. After a while he opened his mouth again and said in a trembling voice “I thought of mother.” 

Regulus kept quiet this time. He reached for his older brother’s hands and together they sat on Sirius’ too large bed with black sheets. Their eyes were shut and quietly they whispered “loves me, loves me not,” over and over again like a mantra. At some points Sirius’ voice would tremble again and Regulus would squeeze his hands a bit harder, holding them tighter. Perhaps they were picturing the same face, maybe they had chosen the same name. Sirius doesn’t know, because Regulus never told him.

That was over ten years ago, but Sirius still plays the game like it’s an obsession. He hasn’t moved from where he’s sitting by The Great Lake, but everything around him has. The night is slowly turning into dawn and the young man still has half the petals left to pluck. He changes position, sitting cross legged like that night when he taught Regulus how to play this very game.

“Loves me, loves me not…” he mumbles quietly to himself as two more petals get carried away across the lake. He can now hear birds happily chirping in the distance and barely gets to wonder how long he’s really been sitting there when a shadow falls over him.

“Hello,” says the voice of James Potter. Sirius looks up to meet his gaze.

“Hello,” he returns. James sits down in front of him.

“What are you doing up this early?”

Sirius shrugs and looks away. The wind now gently caresses his face. He closes his eyes and savours the feeling of actually being able to just _feel_. He’s a star; he burns bright and madly and longingly and James always rants about getting _the hell out of here_ and how he’s going to aim for the stars and how he longs for them when nothing else gives him satisfaction anymore. Sirius sometimes wonder if he means the stars as in him, but never ask.

And when he doesn’t answer, James will go ahead anyway. He then tells Sirius that he’s lucky to be a star, but James never considers that perhaps Sirius is just one of those fallen stars that other people will wish upon and nothing more. Gone faster than he was born.

“What’s that?” James then asks because it’s been too long since his first question and Sirius still hasn’t answered.

The older man looks down at the daisy almost completely crumbled in his hand. A flush colours his cheeks crimson. “It’s uhm… it’s a daisy.”

“It’s broken." 

“It’s not _broken_ , James.” Sirius turns his face to look at his friend again, raising one brow as in asking him what he means.

“It’s missing half of its petals. It’s supposed to have a crown of them,” James just claims out of nowhere, as if Sirius somehow didn’t know this already.

“Yes, well, I’m playing this game, you know. It’s called ‘Loves me, loves-”

“Yeah I know what game it is, Lily showed me last year,” the younger man cuts him off, possibly ignoring the spark of excitement in his friend’s grey eyes. “Who do you love, then, Pads?”

“Who? Well, you, of course.” Sirius blinks at him in confusion, and it’s not until James glances at the flower again that he understand what he means. He looks away quickly, trying to make his crimson flush go away.

James clears his throat, probably trying to save himself some more time before he figures out what to say. “You know that I…" 

Sirius shoots him a glare. “I know that you what, Jamsie? The game isn’t about you, _it never was.”_  

“Then who? Who is it about, Sirius?” 

“It is about me,” he says with a steady voice as he meets James’ gaze once again. “Yes, me." 

“About you?” It’s an empty question. 

“Yeah, yes, sometimes… well, most of the time, I don’t know who I am, Prongs.”

“But you’re Sirius Black,” he deadpans. “The brightest star there ever is.” And once again it’s like James has completely forgotten that stars do not burn forever and while it’s the dust of a star that has given him his life, it is also what will end it someday.

“I guess, yeah,” Sirius goes for instead. After a moment he adds “But that’s only my name, James. It’s not who I am, it’s my name.” _I’m not Sirius_ _Black, it’s_ _just_ _a_ _name_. “And sometimes… well, sometimes I do not like who I am.”

“Oh,” James breathes out into the air separating them. “Oh. But what did you get?” 

“Well, I’m not finished yet, am I?” He keeps plucking the petals, repeating the words in his head like he’s eight again and the man opposite him is his little brother. 

The last petal is spiralling away with the wind and before it can hit the horizon Sirius has already lost sight of it. James is watching him expectantly.

“What did you get, Si?” James asks again. Sirius smiles at him. It’s a sad but soft smile, much like himself in his moments of vulnerability. 

“Oh I just got “loves me not.””

But why have a black vase with twelve red roses when you can have a whole field of daisies? 

**Author's Note:**

> this is probably a lot out of character for sirius, but it's also based like 93% on me cause i'm a pissy sad girl who wrote this as some kind of vent lmao
> 
> and how can sirius be such a clever and understanding eight year old? nobody knows really
> 
> oh and the daisy actually never was about james, like sirius didn't just use that as a cover up. my boi just wanted to know if he loves himself


End file.
